Batman: Decadence
by JPDogood
Summary: Like a rock amidst the tide, Gotham is decaying. The death and dying of major rivals does not come as a welcome sight for an experienced Batman who knows there is something bigger going on, all while Bruce Wayne must deal with his city's politics and economy crumbling around him.
1. Issue 1

**Disclaimer and A/N**

Being a work of fanfiction I claim no rights to any characters or other intellectual property of DC Comics. This story came out of a series of different ideas as well as a sort of homage to both Watchmen as well as the more recent Doomsday Clock. I also want it to be known that this is written in a way I feel lots of comics are written. You will see the type of narration switch from time to time and overall the story is written in short, digestible chunks that I will refer to as "issues." Please feel free to comment or review. I appreciate it.

 **Issue I**

 _Are your stocks at risk? Tune in at 7 to find out...Dow Jones and NASDAQ both down; why investors aren't worried at 11… Withdraw all your money now! Don't wait for…Today's drop yet another reason to buy in to cryptocurrency…_ "Master Wayne, I believe it is going to be difficult to find anything other than this tonight." "They can't be serious Alfred. Falcone beat half to death in jail a week before he's let out and nobody knows who did it, but yet all the news can focus on is a dip in the stock market? I don't know what is worse, people ignoring what is really important, or them believing everything they hear." "Sir, Lucius called earlier and said the quarterly reports for five of our subsidiaries are down significantly for quarter two…" "And Lucius will handle it, Lucius always handles it. Wayne Enterprises has been a beacon of this city's financial stability. Even when crime rates are up and the night is darkest, Wayne Enterprise survives." Just like the Batman Mr. Wayne?" "Heh, just like the Batman."

I will let them all worry about the market. Something is rotten in this city and it is better for them to worry about their money instead of the actual problems. Falcone has a majority of Blackgate's guards on his payroll, how could anyone get close to him, let alone send him to the hospital? Since Arkham's expansion, Blackgate Penitentiary houses mainly low-level thugs and gang members which are also more than likely on Falcone's books. Something isn't right. Something isn't right, but I intend to find out.

Blackgate isn't my territory though. Since Arkham now houses almost every lunatic from, and now around Gotham, more of my time and resources have been needed to keep an eye on it. Because of this, I needed Gordon to take care of Blackgate. Jim Gordon can be trusted to sift through the guards who are ours and those who are Falcone's. He can get to the bottom of this. Atop the police headquarters, Gordon stands in the swelling rain with the searchlight beam to his back. He needs me for something, but I need him more.

The rain drips off the brim of Jim Gordon's hat and starts to soak his exposed shirt and tie not covered by long coat as he turns to shut off the signal. The clouds block the light of the moon and the streetlights are far below leaving the rooftop shrouded in a veil of darkness. "I was starting to think you actually weren't going to show up." "It is a good reminder for the people to see it." "Crime has been down lately, maybe you're right, but there is something that needs to be looked into." "I was going to say the same to you Gordon…Falcone." "Last I heard it could go either way. Whoever got a hold of him really wanted him gone." "Has to be Maroni's men." "Not very likely. One of the officers brought in Maroni's driver for an outstanding warrant; Parking tickets. The driver was waiting outside an oncology center but wouldn't say much." "Cancer?" "The Roman won't be of much concern to Maroni now; he has a bigger battle to fight. Maybe someone new is trying to move into the import export game?" As Gordon finishes wiping off the rain from the lens of his glasses and slides them back into place he realizes that he is alone once again.

The docks are quiet, the allies are quiet. The strip clubs, the bars, and every underground gambling pit are all empty. People aren't spending their money on short lived and cheap highs nor delusions of intimacy tonight. The city is quietly rumbling and shifting ever so slightly beneath my very feet; a volcano churning the magma in its volatile stomach. The city won't hold on for long. I have been here before. A quiet night is always followed by chaos, like the sea receding into itself before unleashing on the shore the relentlessness of a tsunami. Alfred will be pleased that there is no stitching to be done tonight.

Inside of a hospital room across the city in Gotham General, one sole machine in a room set far apart from the others continues to makes noise. A monotonous, yet consistent beep followed in quick succession to another, changes to one long and telling tone. A nurse goes into a room with a doctor who checks his watch and turns off the machine. Carmine Falcone lies dead in a hospital bed as everything is now quiet in this city.


	2. Issue 2

**Issue II**

The funeral of Carmine Falcone is the largest funeral since the burial of Thomas and Martha Wayne. The sun paints hundreds of unnatural shadows on the ground in every direction. It is such a beautiful day for such a terrible person to be put to rest. Falcone was responsible for robberies, murders, kidnappings, carjacking, and corruption in every facet of business he stuck his greedy fingers into. In the dining room of Wayne Manor, Alfred brings in a second cup of coffee. "It appears you're not enjoying the idea of one less crime boss in the city Mr. Wayne?" "It doesn't make any sense Alfred. Falcone had a lot of rivals for a long time and yet he outlived almost all of them. Maroni is the last one and he won't be long behind." "I know it appears obvious Mr. Wayne, but is it not possible that this was a normal prison yard beating?" "We have done this too long Alfred. There is someone who is trying to move up in the world." "Speaking of which sir, you may want to head down to Wayne Enterprises..." Alfred's remark is met with a skeptically quizzical look. "Is it about the board or about the bat?" "Neither sir, I believe it is about financial concerns."

Downtown, on the top floor of the Wayne Enterprise building, Lucius Fox sits staring at the computer while finishing up a phone call. "Yup, mhm, it is a good idea, yes we will have to see, ok, try running it and see how it would look. Ok, thank you. Sorry about that Mr. Wayne, thank you for stopping by." "I am glad to see you have a phone Lucius, you do still have my number I hope?" "I do indeed but this may be an issue that requires a bit more than a phone call or a flood light in the sky. The financials are becoming a bit…murky Bruce. We are doing our best to slow down the news. We own the Gotham Gazette and have their writers working on some trivial stuff but we can't contain every bit of information coming out. By four o'clock…" "What are you talking about Lucius?" "I know your line of work probably doesn't let you pay too much attention to the news but the market is failing, and fast. Once this gets out, Gotham will lose all trust in the banks." "Well what can we do? It is already 2:30." "We already are buying stocks up at a rapid pace to keep the market afloat but in order to sustain this we are going to have to cut off different branches to level out the expenses. We have outlined proposals to sell Wayne Housing and Hotels Inc. as well as pull funding from thirteen different start-ups. I have already been leaking information about the Gazette wanting to go independent. I am sure that will make some one step in and buy that too, even if it's a dying medium." "Wayne Enterprise cannot fall Lucius. Do whatever you need to do. As long as we can keep people's money in Gotham City Trust it should not matter what happens elsewhere. Do whatever it takes, buy the bank if we need to, even if Gotham needs to be an island, you keep the storm away." "Very well, Mr. Wayne, I will keep you informed."

On the way back to Wayne Manor from downtown, the chatter on the police radio discuss nothing but minor issues of a stolen purse or neighbors being too noisy. It is nothing of consequence. After sliding through the screen on the console in the prototype Aston Martin, a soft ringing goes out and is picked up after the first toll ends. "Yes Master Wayne?" "Alfred, I need you to start pulling records of all the new inmates going into Blackgate over the past three months." "Can do sir, is there anything else?" "I should be back soon, once you get those names start checking into security cam footage." "Right away sir."

Down beneath the manse, Alfred sits in front of two large computer screens. One displays a panel of 9 different cameras whereas the other plays black and white footage of a prison hallway. "Find anything good Alfred?" "Quite possibly sir. The list of new inmates over the past three months may be of some use. There are at least forty who have previous stints at the prison and there are twelve others who are connected to either Falcone or Maroni." "That does not really narrow it down does it? What about the security footage?" "Ah this is where you might want to take a look sir. Camera 2C is set on the corridor leading to Falcone's private cell. Camera 3C gives the view from the opposite side. Both cameras go blank at 20:32." As Bruce sits down at the computer and start clicking back and forth between cameras he notices something. "Alfred look when the camera feed picks back up. The guard continues to walk down checking each cell but he is different. In 2C he looks taller?" A series of typing and clicking continues before camera 3C is zoomed in staring at the guard's chest with his badge. At 20:30 the badge reads R111722 but look here at 21:40." Alfred confirms the suspicions.

Paused on the screen is an image of a badge with raised letters and numbers on the chest of the guard. N522310.


	3. Issue 3

p style="text-align: center;"strongIssue III/strong/p  
p style="text-align: left;"span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"Guard Identification Number: N522310. Jonathan Chapman. "Alfred, start running the background check on a Jonathan Chapman of Gotham." As Alfred Pennyworth calmly types into a laptop it takes him mere seconds to find results through a Wayne Enterprise Data Collection site. "There are two Jonathan Chapman's residing in the city sir. The one with employment history at Blackgate Penitentiary resides at 41 Westchester Street, Apartment number 560." "Any prior information I should know about him?" "Nothing substantial sir. Thirty-one years old, single, studied Ornithology at Hudson University. His great grandfather was a mayor of Gotham City. No criminal record, no gang or mafia ties." /spanspan style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;" /spanspan style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;""Doesn't sound like a murderer does he?" "No sir." "Send the GPS location to the onboard computer; we will have to find out for sure." "Very well sir."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" Westchester Heights is the name of the apartment building where this guard lives. From down the street, perched on top of a taller building. The Batman pans the building with a small, handheld computer that scans all the floors and matches it with construction records to find out what room is number 560. On the fifth floor of the outdated apartment building in the southwestern corner sits the desired room. Sitting like a grotesque high above the street on this adjacent tower, the Batman switches over to a high-power long range infrared binoculars. A neon silhouette of a man is pacing quickly back and forth while talking on the phone. The man is desperately searching for something. He bends down in one of the other rooms and picks up what appears to be a pair of pants before pulling out a set of keys. Chapman drops the jeans, hangs up the phone and briskly leaves the room. It is impossible to track him as his bright outline runs past hundreds of others busily enveloped in their own lives, not realizing what their neighbor may have done. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" After a few minutes a man comes out of the front door. His face matches Chapman's from the computer. The man quickly walks over to a car before backing out of his spot and peeling into the street. Far below, parked in an alley sits one of Lucius Fox's greatest creations; a car if you can call it that. The speed and handling of it is other worldly and its armored to the teeth. After recent modification by Fox and his team, the car is more sleek and easy to conceal as any one of the high end sports cars found in this city owned by industrialists and corporate bankers. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" Within no time, Chapman's car is caught up to as it maneuvers as quickly as it can through tight city streets. The sensors around the Batmobile send out a series of invisible rays that track Chapman's car before cross referencing it to the route it has already taken. The onboard computer starts calculating the likely outcomes of this journey. There is a 73% chance that this car is heading to Gotham General Hospital. With the destination most likely determined, the Batman falls farther behind as to not give Chapman any suspicions that he is being followed. Up ahead, the traffic light turns red. Chapman is sitting impatiently in the front of a line that consists of two more cars before it gets to Batman. As the light turns green, Chapman starts to pull through the intersection. Out of nowhere, a moving truck comes barreling through the intersection from the crossing road. The truck slams into the driver's side of Jonathan Chapman's car without so much as a beep of a horn. The crash is deafening and followed by complete silence. Running to the passenger side of Chapman's car, the Batman breaks open the window with a blow from his elbow. Looking inside, Jonathan Chapman's neck is bent at an ungodly angle with blood streaming from his nose and the corner of his mouth. Quickly, Batman runs over to the Driver's side of the moving truck and throws the door open to find the cab completely empty. In the distance sirens can be heard. Before the police show up, Batman checks the back of the truck. He throws open the vertical sliding door to find the back of the truck empty as well. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" As the police get to the scene of the crash, the Batman is already gone and standing on the top of the Police Headquarters with Jim Gordon. "Whatever happens Gordon, you make sure that truck is impounded and not touched by any cop you don't trust." "I trust all of them or they wouldn't be on my staff." "Leave it locked and away from cameras. Do not let anyone inside of it." "What is this even about? Everything points to a hit and run. It is probably someone who didn't want to be brought in. What aren't you telling me." "You will find out in time. Just do what I say." I trust Jim Gordon. I don't trust his staff and the less people involved in this the better it will be. If Falcone can get murdered in his prison cell then this is bigger than Gordon. Gotham is breaking and there is nothing the police can do about it./span/p 


	4. Issue 4

p style="text-align: center;"strongIssue IV/strong/p  
p style="text-align: left;"span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"After a few weeks, the results came back from the lab. One night after the death of Jonathan Chapman, the entire truck was dusted for finger prints and any other miscellaneous DNA. Below Wayne Manor, Bruce opened up the orange envelope. His eyes widened in disbelief at what he saw. There were no prints. No trace of DNA was left behind. The lab houses the best forensic and analytical tools that money can buy and it said that this truck might as well have been driven by a ghost the moment it came off the assembly line. The paper got crumbled in his fist as he slammed it down on the desk./span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" The shuttering of hundreds of cameras snaps Bruce back to reality as he sits on a panel of distinguished guests as the mayor is about to give a press conference. "Good afternoon everyone. Today, I wanted to come out and give a quick overview of the state of our beloved city. I understand most of you out there have been closely following the ebbs and flows of the stock market and I would like to urge you all to be patient. Hasty decisions are ill advised in times like these especially without all of the information. Please understand that the media would like us all to believe that we are coming upon a second Great Depression and I am here to say definitively that it is simply not true. In fact, I still have all my investments in the market showing profitable returns so if I can do it so can all of you." "The elite always make money off of the poor you greedy pig!" Someone shouts from the crowd at the mayor. A loud, disgruntled, unintelligible chatter rises and fills the room. The mayor smiles an uncomfortable smile and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Now that just isn't true. I succeed when Gotham succeeds." The response feels practiced and insincere. "Please heed my advice, do not panic, your money is safe and sound, all these men and women up here are heading successful multi-national corporations and they volunteered to come here to demonstrate the stability…" "They are just as corrupt as you! You piece of shit!" A different man yells from the distance. Bruce looks around the room to see many angry faces staring back at him and the others seated on the stage. A few members of the panel adjust their tie or look at their phones as the crowd gets louder. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" "Step down! Step down! Step down!" Chants start to gain steam from a delegation in the back of the room. A man who must be one of the mayor's advisors appears on stage out of nowhere and whispers something into the mayor's ear. "That is going to be all for today, thank you, no questions," the mayor says this talking back at the microphone as he is walking away. Half the people in the audience start to cheer as the others yell out questions that won't be answered. Cameras click and flash all while chanting and cheering continues. One man from the panel steps up to the microphone to say something before someone in the room pulls the plug. It takes a minute for the man to realize nobody can hear what he is saying. Bruce steps out through a door located behind the stage and presses a button on his phone. His antique car sits running behind town hall where he gets in before heading back home, wishing he picked a more discrete mode of transportation. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" In the streets, the crowd spilled out of the town hall and has gathered with more numbers. Bruce needs to pull through all of them to get onto the road. All of a sudden something comes crashing onto the side of the car with a splash. A red liquid drips down is window as people rush over to the car banging on it. Pushing and shoving starts to sway the car from left to right as a man attempts to punch through the window. "You rich son of a…!" A half a dozen of police in riot gear start to pull men and women off of Bruce's car forcefully. As soon as he sees his chance he takes it. Bruce speeds away off the main streets and back to the estate as fast as he can./span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" Back at Wayne Manor in the dining room, Bruce explains to Alfred what happened. "I don't get it Alfred. They all were so incredibly angry. What did I do to them? I don't control their money?" "I believe it isn't you exactly Master Wayne but instead, perhaps, your name." Bruce's face scrunches in confusion and a bit of disbelief. "What do you mean by that?" "Well sir, Wayne Tower looms over their heads every day. Many of them see the W logo on their paychecks. The Wayne's have been the wealthiest people they have ever known. You own multiple cars and homes and buildings and businesses all over the city. These people can hardly pay rent." As Bruce thinks about what Alfred says, he turns in his seat and stares at the muted television mounted to the wall. The headline at the bottom of the screen reads, "Foreclosure rates hit record high." "They need hope Alfred, and that is something I can give to them."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" In the pitch dark, Batman crouches on a ledge in the middle of the city. To one side he can faintly see the crowd from earlier that day still gathered, with more added to their numbers. On the other side, sirens ring out from somewhere in the grid of city streets. Batman chooses the sirens. /span/p 


	5. Issue 5

p style="text-align: center;"strongIssue V/strong/p  
p style="text-align: left;"span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"The creaking of the floor makes his heart drop. I've been watching him the entire time he's been in here. He is frantic and panicked. He must be new at this. Even though the house is pitch black, Batman can see his every move from the kitchen, to the living room, searching for anything valuable. Like a dog, you can practically smell his fear. Underneath a television that is too big to carry, is the new gaming system plugged into the wall. The man reaches for the wires to unplug them as quietly as he can before stuffing the whole thing into a black backpack. I should stop him now. A low life burglar will have to do for tonight. As the Batman goes to step from the shadows, something inside him holds him back. Something wants to follow the thief and see where he goes. It is a longshot, but maybe he is part of something bigger. Everyone in the city is connected, thick as thieves my mother used to say. If this guy goes back to one of Maroni's dens, he could know people responsible for Falcone's death./span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" Leaving the house as silently as he entered, the burglar heads to the street with the Batman not far behind. The man is in a rush, he is sloppy and erratic. In a dimly lit corner at the end of the street the thief pulls an unwound coat hanger from his bag and attempts to break into a car. At that very moment, the streetlight above him bursts in a shatter of glass and plastic "I think that's enough," The Batman growls in a low voice. The man's face is covered by an oversized black winter hat with one long slit cut in it to see, but it is no use in this type of darkness. The Batman grabs onto his shoulder with a firm hand before the man quickly turns around and swings the wire hangar at him. The sound of it is like a whip as it cuts through the air. Batman bends backwards as far as he can in his suit but the armor in the back prevents much of his movement. He misjudges the distance and in a blink of an eye he feels a burning sting slash across the part of his face not covered by the mask. Batman grabs his face as he muffles a scream of pain and rage before unleashing a crushing right hook to the man's ribs. The man buckles over in pain before trying to run. As quick as a cat after a mouse, Batman reaches for his belt and throws a cable toward the man's ankles, wrapping around one before tripping him. He messes with the cable, trying to free himself until Batman looms over him. He kicks and punches and for a few moments, lands some decent blows, but he is no match. The Batman is faster and stronger with a top of the line suit that absorbs most of the damage. The man winces in pain as he gets hit from hands that felt like hammers. A bone in the man's arm breaks with a loud crack when he tried to defend himself from one of the punches. Lying on the road, Batman pulls off the burglar's mask that has blood soaked through at the spot his nose was. "Don't let me find you again," he says as a warning to the man before leaving with the backpack. He leaves the bag with the almost stolen game console back inside the house the man got it from before leaving for good./span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" From the rooftops, Batman can hear the faint noise of a mass of people. The failed attempt of the mayor to calm the nerves of the city of Gotham has done quite the opposite. People have gathered by the thousands in the streets surrounding the town hall. As Batman gets closer, he can see the people have signs in their hands with all types of anger and hate printed onto them. A man with a megaphone stands on the top of the steps to town hall and yells into it with a raucous applause from the crowd. It is hard to make out what he is saying but the animated way in which he says it encapsulates the crowd. He is throwing his other arm around, pointing first at the building then at the row of riot police lined in front of the doors. The mayor has presumably left the hall hours ago but it is symbolic enough of elitism and excess that the masses would rather see it torn down with or without him there./span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" The crowd inches closer and closer to the police barricade. The man with the megaphone screams another thing into the horde of protestors and from the pack came a glass bottle thrown end over end at the police. It breaks harmlessly against one of the shields but it is enough for a couple police to launch tear gas into the crowd. Pandemonium erupts and desperate screams are thrown to the heavens as police and young men and women start to clash. The protestors are armed with only what they can find, rocks mostly, some nothing at all. The police fight back with their shields and batons and push them as far back as they can. They stand shoulder to shoulder like a phalanx and slowly withstand the first wave of furious citizens but the crowd is possessed by desperation and eventually breaks through the shield wall. Mayhem surrounds them all as police and protestor fight one another. A cop loses his helmet as a rubber bullet hits a man in the neck. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" The Batman finally drops down from seemingly nowhere and into the middle of the chaos. In that very moment there is silence. In an instant, that silence breaks into shouts and boos. "What are you going to do?! We don't want you!" someone yells from close by. "We don't need you!" "Put the real criminals wearing tuxes in jail!" One after another the crowd turns on him and starts to rush him and the cops like a flood. The few remaining police stand by Batman's side as they fight back against the onslaught. Fists are thrown by everyone and it seems that everything is moving so fast that nobody has a face, just a blurred expression of disbelief./span/p  
p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" As Batman gets hit over the back with a piece of wood he turns to throw a punch at the man. His fist reaches out straight in front of him before being caught by a gloved hand. A figure stands in front of him in a suit of white and a deep purple, the color of the night sky just before the moon and sun begin to trade places for a new day. /span/p 


	6. Issue 6

**Issue VI**

The masked figure stands face to face with the Batman. Though the face is covered in a white mask with short, purple, vertical rectangles under where his eyes would be, he stares right through Batman with his head cocked slightly to the side in upset disappointment. A tattered white cape ripples behind him in the soft breeze as silence drowns them all. An internal sense of urgency forces Batman to come up with a plan. He sees dozens of men and women alike lying on the ground as a couple of policemen try and help their wounded up as well. Batman clicks a button on his belt and dark smoke starts funneling out of vents on his sleeves and legs. The figure across from him does not move outside of the fact that he has shifts his head back up straight. A brief gasp on panic erupts as the whole street and all the protestors are quickly blinded by the smoke. After it starts to clear, the people come to see that the police, as well as the Batman have disappeared. The figure donning the fitted white and plum suit turns to face the masses where he is met with uproarious applause.

"Who the hell is that guy!? Who does he think he is?!" Bruce screams at Alfred who stands at attention behind him in the cave. "That, sir, I am not sure. You have never faced that person before." "You think I don't know that Alfred? I remember everyone who we have ever locked up and I have never seen that suit before…" "Perhaps we check Arkham records? Someone could have escaped and put on something new to mess with you?" "And defend the people? Not very likely. Must be connected to the Falcone murder, we must be close and he wants to stop us. I should've stayed and stopped him." "You saved the lives of two police officers, you made the right choice sir." "I was a glorified ambulance last night…" "The paper will still read that the Batman saves lives Master Wayne."

As the next morning comes, Bruce watches the TV as he eats. Alfred's polished shoes clap against the floor as he steadily walks over with a silver platter. On top is the morning newspaper, Alfred reluctantly but dutifully displays it for Bruce Wayne. Bruce stares at it before dropping it down on the table. _Mysterious Figure Brings Peace to Protests_ is the headline in bold black letters across the top of the page with a picture of the mask staring back at him. Bruce shakes his head perturbed by such insolence and turns the TV up as if to quiet his own voice inside his head.

The newscaster sits wearing a blue suit and red tie with a picture of a downward arrow over his should. "Metropolis Mutual Bank is set to fail and reports show that they have already begun the process to apply for a federal bailout. It seems a matter of time before other big banks in Metropolis and Gotham start to follow along. Speaking of Gotham let us check in with Vicki Vale at Gotham General, Vicki?" "Thanks Don, here in the halls of Gotham General Hospital, it is not rare to see the occasional bad guy that the Batman sends here before their stay at Arkham Asylum or Blackgate Penitentiary. Today is no different. However, this seemingly bad guy wants his side of the story to be told." A man in his mid-thirties lies in a hospital bed covered to the stomach with a thin blue hospital blanket. "My name is Omar Vasconcelos and Batman has ruined my life." The voice of Vicki Vales picks back up as she narrates while the camera pans over the man's battered body. "Omar, along with his wife and four year old daughter had recently been evicted from their home and have been sleeping at whichever place will take them in. Food was scarce for them and it left Omar no choice but to steal and pawn the belongings for money." Omar's face is back on the screen with a black eye as he says, "Batman stopped me and beat me half to death as if I was the Joker or someone. I just want my daughter to eat that's all, now she is being taken away from me." A tear rolls down the man's swollen cheek as the world "vigilantism gone too far," fades from the bottom of the screen.

Bruce Wayne rolls his eyes before throwing his plate across the room to crash against the wall. "We now take you to an undisclosed location for this breaking news update." A red banner flashes across the screen as it scrolls through more information. The mayor of Gotham stands at a podium with a solid grey backdrop behind him. "Good morning, the mayor's office has received word that there have officially been two casualties in result of the protests and subsequent riots last night. I would like to send my most heartfelt apologies and sympathies to the families of those who passed… Because of this, I can no longer be satisfied with my performance as a mayor if this is the type of tumult that is caused by my tenure. After discussing this with my own family, I have decided to resign from political office effective immediately. A special election will be held as soon as possible and until then, my chief of staff will be in charge of all mayoral duties. Thank you to all of my supporters over the years and I wish you all the best of luck in the days ahead." The mayor walks away as the screen cuts back to the news studio. "This is going to get bad Alfred."


	7. Issue 7

**Issue VII**

As the host opened up the door for them, Bruce could not help but think that this year's Mayoral Ball seemed a little strange. As Bruce Wayne steps from the car, he turns back around to stick his hand out for his date that night. A tall, blonde, Swedish model wearing a long, slender black dress, slit at the side to show her long and stunningly pale leg. This is a typical sight. Politicians and businessmen and women bring their spouses or dates out in the nicest attire so the paparazzi can paste it on the latest tabloid, constantly reminded everyone just how high some have risen, while others wait in line at the grocery store. Though this year looks the same as every other year, it is not, there is no mayor to hold this ball. Supposedly, a transition team has selected a man to run the city until an election is to be held in three months. This new, de facto mayor has adopted all the ceremonial duties as well. The ball colors itself as a night for the hardest workers to relax and enjoy the company of like-minded companions but instead it's a sad excuse to pander the wealthy to fund another political campaign while getting drunk in the process.

Bruce Wayne is expected to attend every year, and every year, he does not disappoint. The model hangs off his arm like an accessory as they are guided to a table where they are seated next to a balding older man whose body seems to sweat just sitting there, alongside a significantly younger woman who hasn't looked up from lap. Others sit around them as Bruce scans the room for anyone of note. The balding man talks to him about how his grandfather started his company from scratch but it was him who turned it into a million dollar operation. Bruce nods and fake laughs at all the jokes as he is expected to do. Across the room, almost directly behind the massive head of the man sitting with him is the man who stepped in for the ousted mayor.

Bruce walks over, "I suppose it is you now who is going to complain about all my submitted building permits now isn't it?" The fake laugh he sends the man is impressively well rehearsed as he beams a snow white smile at the man. "Bruce Wayne! Let it be known that any Wayne Enterprise building that needs to be built will always have the OK from me. My name is Robert Tallow." The man looks sheepish but carries himself better than it would appear. He is as thin as a rail with brown hair that is awkwardly cleaned up and brushed to sway in one direction. His eyes bounce around, afraid to make eye contact, before he glares back and makes another statement. "A long time ago, I dreamed of working on the top floor of that tower of yours. I didn't know what went on up there, but I always liked how it looked. It would be like a bird, flying over the entire city." It was hard not to like the man. The transition team made a calculated decision with this one. The last thing the city needed was the people hating another politician. "Tallow was it? Let me tell you what. Let me have my people get a hold of your assistant and I'll take you on a personal tour of the place myself." "I think I would like that Mr. Wayne." The two men shake hands when Bruce looks down with a smile. Underneath the band of a golden watch was a black line etched into Robert Tallow's skin. Bruce snickers and says, "A mayor with a tattoo? I think the youth of Gotham will start chanting for your re-election before you even run." Tallow adjusts his sleeve and uncomfortable shifts his hand back, "Oh yes that, well, we all go through different phases don't we Mr. Wayne?" "That we certainly do." With that, both men were washed into the ocean of courtiers once more just as a rapid popping erupted into the room.

An ancient instinct deep inside everyone resulted in the entire room dropping to the ground instantly. Screams and the sound of shattered glass fill the air. Bruce flips a round table over to create some sort of barrier as the assailants start pacing through the room. Everyone is flat on their stomach as Bruce starts to pan the room for a way to escape. He is in the middle, equidistant from two different exits which are too far away to run to. Anger flashes across his face as he thinks he should have expected something like this when the city has been wavering in and out of chaos for weeks. "Hands on your heads everyone!" a shout muffled by a mask. With shaking hands, everyone listens. A man panics next to him and inhales short, terrified breaths. "Don't make a sound and don't move! You have lived like this for long enough! As long as everyone stays calm, we will leave with you wallets and that's it, but if not…" The leader shoots his gun in the air while two others go around reaching into pockets and purses before throwing anything valuable into a duffel bag. Bruce does his best to look around for the temporary mayor but cannot find him. As he is about to stop looking, the robbers come up and stick a hand in his back pocket. Years of training and instinct kick in as Bruce Wayne turns on his side and grabs the guy's wrist. The man's eyes widen underneath the dark tights stretched over his face. In that very moment, Bruce can feel warm metal press against the back of his styled hair. "Tsk tsk tsk. Mr. Wayne, were my requests difficult to understand?" The ring leader has no fear in his voice. "And to think you always looks so calm in all those TV ads." Bruce doesn't respond but slowly removes his hand from the wrist of the co-conspirator.

Minutes feel like decades as one by one, the robbers go from body to body removing necklaces, watches, and relieving the burden of other worldly possessions of theirs. The main thief keeps Bruce close by when it finally finished. "Well everyone, it was a pleasure spending this night with you all, but you know what the upper crust is like…flaky. Mr. Wayne is driving us home for coffee so we really must go." Everyone stays prone on the ground while the leader escorts Bruce to the valet and forces him to grab his own key. With a click of the button, a car roars to life in the parking lot on the side of the building. As they turn the corner, in the darkness stands the figure in the white and purple from the riot. His masked head once more cocked to the side. The two henchmen point their guns at the mysterious figure waiting for the boss's order. From far enough away, the marks under the figure's eyes almost look like tears.

The figure doesn't move, nor does it say anything. After a few awkward moments, the leader pushes Bruce slowly forward, closer to the car as they pass by the figure. He still doesn't move. As they walk within feet of him, he moves like a bullet and grabs one of the two men from behind and forces his arm back and up to hold the gun against the man's head. Once again, total stillness, like a hunter in a tree. The figure who brings peace with one gun, across from the leader and his compatriot with guns to Bruce. The figure tilts his head to the other side. A shot rings out from the masked man and buries itself in the shoulder of the henchmen next to Bruce while Bruce seizes the opportunity and elbows the leader in the stomach before apprehending him. The figure knocks out his victim with a hit to the head from the butt of the gun while Bruce gets up from where he was holding his man on the ground. The figure stands face to face with Bruce Wayne before reaching down to pick up the bag of stolen goods and turning around to leave. "We aren't done!" Bruce yells at the back of the mysterious hero. With an air of omnipotence, his voice calls back, "I know."


End file.
